Dreams

Last night, I dreamt about my Mum. I remember noticing her face was serene and unlined with laughter in her eyes. Which should have alerted me to the fantasy of this occasion. Mum had rarely looked serene as drama was the constant companion of her life.

Anyway, so there was Mum's face, with or without her body, wandering around an outdoor camping store checking out various chairs. With Michael and me in tow. I distinctly felt she was the leader of this expedition, the purpose of which remained a mystery. Perhaps the absurdity got the better of me, as I woke soon after, perplexed and mildly amused. 

So, why do we dream? I know the mechanics of dreaming and that everybody dreams, but how do we choose the subject matter? Is there a lucky dip pot stashed away in our unconsciousness waiting for us to pull out a random topic? Are dreams an elaborate game of Chinese whispers, where the original content and intent becomes increasingly vague and weird the longer the dreaming continues?

Animals, vegetables and inanimate objects feature frequently in Michael's dreams. There was the absolute corker of Madame Cat wearing stilettos and nicking Michael's toast to hide in her suitcase. His meeting with Mister Carrot, the delegate from the salad. Conversations with the Red Tractor. Beeping at the television, whilst it was dangling in midair above our bed. Insisting that I had turned into a wildebeest or a disintegrating homestead gutter. 

So, maybe that is one of the roles of dreams. To provide comic relief during times of stress. I know we also have scary dreams, disturbing dreams and sad dreams, but I usually dismiss them out of my psyche pretty quickly. Like watching a Pink Panther movie or an episode of Fawlty Towers or an anecdote from "True Girt", humour is good for our souls. Which is why I prefer dreams with a side helping of cheerful insanity.

Must be time for another chat with Mister Carrot...